


A Better Daughter (or, Five Times Erin Gilbert Hated Herself, and One Time Holtzmann Loved Her Enough That It Didn't Matter Quite So Much)

by Lysippe



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: Because I can, Best read with beer and chocolate, F/F, Slow Burn, and I'm terrible to her, and prepare, and some angst, for the, have another Erin character study, here, on angst, that no one asked for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 17:50:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8219761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lysippe/pseuds/Lysippe
Summary: The day before her ninth birthday, exactly eight months and seventeen days after her first therapy session, Erin Gilbert tells her therapist that, yes, she made up a ghost.It's a lie, and lying is wrong, but so, apparently, is saying that you saw a ghost.





	1. Sometimes in the morning, I am petrified and can't breathe

**Author's Note:**

> I needed something to keep me going while I work on the porn fic, and I've had several of these head canons running around my head for a while now, and this seemed like a good enough place to put them. I honestly just really like twisting the knife with Erin, and she's a lot of fun to write, so I'm going to roll with it.
> 
> The title and chapter titles are taken from the Rilo Kiley song, "A Better Son/Daughter," because tbh it's the most Erin song I can think of, and I listen to it a lot when I write past!Erin.

The day before her ninth birthday, exactly eight months and seventeen days after her first therapy session, Erin Gilbert tells her therapist that, yes, she made up a ghost.

It’s a lie, of course, and it tastes bitter on her tongue as it leaves her mouth. She knows what she saw that night, what she sees _every night,_ behind closed doors in her pitch-black room as she lies still, waiting breathlessly for the inevitable. And every night, she squeezes her eyes shut as tightly as she can, pulls the covers over her head, and curls into a ball, legs pressed into her chest and arms wrapped so tightly around the brown stuffed bear that smells faintly of mothballs, which she dragged out of the back of her closet after the first night, that her fingers go numb. And it is there she stays, until she feels the first rays of sunlight hit her eyelids, and she knows she is safe.

It’s a _lie_ , and lying is _wrong_ , but so, apparently, is saying you saw a ghost, which is the _truth_ , so Erin figures she’s screwed either way, and she’ll be no better or worse off than before. 

She won’t _be_ less of a freak, but at least she’ll _look_ like one.

And when her therapist, seemingly very satisfied with this breakthrough, asks her why she would feel the need to make up stories about _ghosts_ , of all things, Erin has a dozen answers for him. She’s _thought_ about this, about what the best, most believable story would be.

Because she was lonely.

Because her parents work eighty hour weeks at jobs she’s pretty sure they love more than her.

Because her brother holds two state records in track and field, and her sister is the lead in every school play, and Erin is smart-but-not- _cool_ -smart – she’s smart in a way that her classmates find either weird or intimidating, or, more often, both – and just once she wants to feel like she’s _special_. 

Those are all lies, too, but at least they would be believable.

She doesn’t say any of those things.

Instead, she shrugs her shoulders, stares down at the carpet as she scuffs the heels of her white sneakers on the plush carpet, and says, “I dunno.”

And as the words leave her mouth, she feels a twisting sensation deep in her stomach, like she’s swallowed a bundle of knives, and it _hurts_. Words shouldn’t hurt like that.

But then, it had hurt when her best-and-only friend called her a freak.

And it hurts when the kids at school call her Ghost Girl.

And it hurts when her parents talk about her in hushed tones behind closed doors, thinking she can’t hear, saying things about “delusions” and “attention-seeking-behavior” and “ _not normal, why can’t she just be_ normal.”

Erin wonders that, herself.

She wonders if maybe she really _isn’t_ normal. Maybe she _is_ seeing things, or maybe she just convinced herself that it was real, or maybe she actually is _just crazy_. 

She almost hopes she’s crazy.

But she knows she isn’t.

And anger curls up in her stomach, making Erin feel a little like she is going to scream and a lot like she’s going to throw up, because she doesn’t _want_ to be the girl who was pathetic enough to make up a ghost for attention. 

She would just rather be that girl, than the one who actually saw a ghost.


	2. Awake, but cannot open my eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp. I wanted to insert high school Erin in here somehow, and of course this was what I came up with, because I'm terrible and I'm awful to my characters, and terrible!person!Erin! is kind of my crack, not gonna lie. I swear I love her, I really do. I just... love her being terrible lol
> 
> (As always, I am thebestdressedrebelinhistory on Tumblr, so hit me up there if you feel so inclined.)

On an otherwise perfectly nondescript November morning, a girl Erin has never met walks up to her desk before AP Chemistry.

And even though it’s been almost nine years since she let herself see a ghost, and even though relatively few people in her school still think it’s funny to call her Ghost Girl, Erin is still surprised, because there is a certain stigma attached to her name that she has never quite managed to shake. One that makes people who don’t even _know_ her want to keep their distance _._

But the girl, in her big black glasses and turtleneck sweater, stares _right at her_ , like she _knows_ her, and says, “I’m Abby, and I heard you saw a ghost.”

And Erin’s heart clenches painfully in her chest, and she squeezes her fingernails into her palms, grounding herself in preparation for what she knows is coming.

“I made that up,” she says coolly, forcing the words out in as level a tone as she can muster. “In third grade, I made that story up. It was stupid. I was stupid.”

“No, you didn’t,” Abby says, and Erin is completely thrown off guard by the thoughtless confidence in her voice. “You _said_ you made it up, because everyone thought you were crazy. But _I_ don’t think you’re crazy. _I_ believe you, Ghost Girl.”

And she doesn’t want to trust Abby. She doesn’t want to talk to her about it, and she doesn’t want to let the veil of normalcy she has wrapped herself in for _so many years_ slip.

But Abby stares at her intently, knowingly, and Erin can’t help it. She’s almost seventeen, and she’s _so close_ to escaping Ghost Girl forever, and who _cares_ if sometimes, out of the corner of her eye, Erin sees a silvery wisp of nothing at the foot of her bed, because _she made that up_.

But it feels _so good_ to hear someone say _“I believe you”_ for the first time in _so many years_.

It just _feels so good_.

But _good_ isn’t what Erin feels as she nods at Abby, sighs, and says, “Okay. Fine. I didn’t make it up.”

And it isn’t what she feels when Abby rolls her eyes and says, _“Duh.”_

She _feels_ like she’s tossing a hand grenade into the last vestiges of her sanity, blowing any chance she ever had of a normal life sky high, for a chance at maybe having _one friend_ who may or may not even actually want to be her friend. And granted, one friend is one more than she’s had for a long time, but it’s also one more than she’s needed.

But something about Abby’s easy confidence, the way brown eyes sparkle, wears away at Erin’s resolve. And she leans forward and says, “Want to come over after school and tell me about it? I’m _really interested_ in the paranormal, and I think we can figure this out.”

Erin has worked for so long.

She has worked for _so long_ at being normal. And okay, she always kind of failed, because _normal_ doesn’t have a masters-level understanding of physics at seventeen, and _normal_ isn’t ten points off a perfect SAT score without studying, and normal _definitely isn’t_ sitting alone in the corner of the cafeteria every day with a book instead of friends because even now, _no one wants to be Erin’s friend_.

Except, apparently, for Abby.

And she _hates_ this, and she can almost _feel_ her eight-year-old self screaming in the back of her mind, saying _why would you ever want to go_ back _to that,_ but Erin knows why.

Because more than Erin wants to be normal, she wants to be _accepted_.

She hates that, too.


	3. And the weight is crushing down on my lungs, I know I can't breathe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter (well, the beginning and end of this chapter) was originally going to be a part of something else that never came into fruition, but I kept it around because I liked it and thought I would find a way to incorporate it eventually. The more I write this Erin, the more I want to both hug her and smack her, but I honestly kind of love her for it.
> 
> As always, I'm thebestdressedrebelinhistory on Tumblr, so hit me up.

Erin loses her virginity in the back seat of her TA's 1983 Ford Thunderbird. It's cramped, and a little painful, and over a lot sooner than she expected it to be. And a niggling, obnoxious, self-righteous voice in the back of her mind keeps telling her that there is _no justifiable reason_ for blowing off Abby for _this_.

Abby, who has been Erin’s best and only friend for the last (and best) five years of her life.

Abby, who has never questioned her or judged her and _definitely_ never lied to her.

Abby, who is currently sitting in _The Wolverine Scene_ ’s studio, waiting for Erin to show up and take a public stand with her to help get their research out to a mainstream audience.

Abby, who has _no idea_ that Erin isn’t coming.

Or that Erin applied to transfer to MIT in the spring.

Or that she was accepted (after five repeated rejections, also kept a secret).

And it’s not that Erin doesn’t _want_ to tell Abby. It’s not like she doesn’t feel _bad_ about it. She does. Of course she does. And it’s not like she thinks Abby won’t be happy for her. Abby knows that MIT is Erin’s dream, and she witnessed firsthand how devastated she was when she was waitlisted the first time she applied (it was the first problem Erin had that Abby couldn’t make better with French fries and chocolate milkshakes).

It’s just that, as much as she loves her (and she does, she really does), there are some things about Erin that Abby will never understand. 

Like why Erin needs _so badly_ to be accepted. 

Or why she would blow her off to fuck a guy she doesn’t like, for an A she already has, in a car that smells like old pizza and other women’s perfume. (Although, to be fair, Erin isn’t quite sure about that one, herself.)

And as her TA (it’s Brian or Brad or some other name Erin should probably care more about than she does) shuffles around to pull up his pants, body-checking Erin into the window in the process, Erin thinks that, though her frame of reference is admittedly poor, she's pretty sure he has no place looking as pleased with himself as he does for what seems to her to be a fairly lackluster performance.

But there’s a reason that Erin is here tonight, and not with Abby, making a fool of herself in front of the ten people who watch _The Wolverine Scene_. Of course there’s a reason. _Everything_ has a reason. One that can be explained by science, by variables on chalkboards and experiments in laboratories. One that can be quantifiably proven with results that can be replicated by anyone with the resources and sufficient knowledge to try. 

(Unlike the paranormal.)

The problem, however, is that while Erin _knows_ that she loves Abby, that love cannot be quantifiably proven.


	4. And hope someone will save me this time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for totally dropping off the face of the earth for like two and a half months. I kind of hit a wall with this fandom, and between that, one of the worst semesters I've had in a long time, and a weird dip back and forth into the Hunger Games fandom even though it's pretty much dead and buried by this point, this fic sort of got lost in my head. I know this chapter is really short, but it felt complete where it was, and there's (probably/hopefully) more coming soon with this roadblock out of the way.

Erin doesn’t love Phil.

What she loves is the sense of stability that comes with loving him. She loves knowing that they will go to the same restaurant, followed by a formulaic movie on their dates, which happen once every three weeks on a Thursday night, and none of them will be memorable, but none of them will be terrible, either. She loves that no one at work looks twice at perfectly respectable Dr. Erin Gilbert with her perfectly respectable boyfriend and his perfectly respectable PhD to match hers. She loves the box he checks in her life, and the box she knows she checks in his.

And if he looks at her like she’s grown a second head when she laughs a little too loud, or reacts with condescending confusion when he finds out she still has the stuffed bear in a ghost costume that Abby gave her for Christmas one year, well, she can live with that.

Mostly.

After all, on Erin's extensive list of Things She Did Because She Was Supposed To Even Though She Never Really Wanted To, Phil is somewhere near the bottom. Dating him isn't particularly fulfilling, but her life is so much _easier_ for it. Her parents don't ask about _when she's going to find a man_ (and it _will_ be a man, she tells herself a hundred times over, because she likes men just fine, so why complicate her life unnecessarily?), and she avoids pitying stares when everyone has a date for the holidays except her, and she doesn't have to go to the movies alone (unless it's a movie that won't get an Oscar nod, but Erin manages to restrain herself from those anyway, no matter how many cute singing snowmen there are), and...

And it's okay.

Life with Phil is very acceptable, and very tolerable, and very, very okay.

What is less okay, is the fact that Phil is living proof of Erin's worst fear: that the rest of the world hates any glimpse of who she really is, almost as much as Erin hates herself.


	5. And your mother’s still calling you insane and high

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, I managed to finish this chapter almost a year after last updating? Idk, I suck I guess. I was never able to write the idea I initially had for this chapter to my satisfaction, but this sort of cane to me after the fact and nestled itself in my brain at work yesterday, so here you go, I guess.
> 
> As always, I’m thebestdressedrebelinhistory on Tumblr, so hit me up.

Erin hates Holtzmann from the moment she meets her.  
  
Well, not _her_ , specifically. Just everything _about_ her. The stained overalls and the messy hair and the mad-scientist gleam in her eyes and that smug, protective smile as she steps between Erin and Abby so effortlessly - so _fucking_ effortlessly - as though she has any right to be there.  
  
Which, Erin supposes, she does.  
  
Erin vacated that same spot clearly and willingly, and never looked back, so who Abby chooses as her new right-hand-woman isn’t really something she gets a say in. And anyway, she doesn’t even really care, because Holtzmann’s relationship with Abby is so far down the list of reasons that Erin can’t stand her, it may as well not even be _on_ it.  
  
Not that Erin has a list.  
  
Not a written one, anyway.  
  
A written list of all the reasons Erin hates Holtzmann would be too much like a written list of all the reasons Erin has ever hated herself, and she already has one of those.  
  
Because looking at Holtzmann is like looking into a mirror. A funhouse mirror, one that shows Bizarro-Erin in its reflection, warped and twisted beyond recognition. The kind of Erin who doesn’t feel the need to look perfect, act perfect, _be_ perfect, every second of every day. An Erin who couldn’t give a fuck that everyone thinks she’s insane, even if she tried. (Real-world-Erin gives a lot of fucks about that, probably because she actually _is_ insane. After all, she sees ghosts.)  
  
Holtzmann is the Erin that Erin could have been, if Erin were a better person. If she were less who she is, and also more who she is. Less concerned about appearances. More concerned about her friends. Less willing to sell herself out for validation she never ends up getting anyway. More willing to have fun. And not the kind of fun Phil and her colleagues like, because Erin doesn’t actually think that luncheons where she can only eat one slice of cheese and two crackers before Phil starts reminding her about her New Year’s resolution to lose five pounds (he thought it should be ten, but Erin is sometimes realistic, and really loves cheese), or trash-talking physicists from other institutions, just because they happen to work at other institutions, are fun at all.  
  
Mostly they just make her sad.  
  
And a little angry.  
  
They would probably make her a lot angry, if she dwelled on them more, but her tendency to dwell on things too much is number 14 on Erin’s (written) list of why she hates herself, so she tries to let those things go. (Holtzmann probably doesn’t dwell on things. She doesn’t look like she’s dwelled a day in her life.)

(But really, Erin knows she’s deluding herself in thinking she could ever be anything other than what she is.)

All this is uncharacteristically introspective for Erin, of course. (Erin tries to avoid looking inward. She already knows she doesn’t like what she’ll see.) But the fact that the mere sight of Holtzmann is pretty much solely responsible for throwing her down this rabbit hole only makes Erin hate her more.

And anyway, introspection is for people who aren’t looking to unlock the mysteries of the universe, which is, at least, more respectable than trying to unlock the mysteries of the paranormal.


End file.
